Ella Minnow Pea: The Quick and the Brown
by Twinings
Summary: The quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog.


Disclaimer: I do not own Ella Minnow Pea, a truly remarkable novel by Mark Dunn. It is not completely necessary to have read the book to understand this story, but I would still very much recommend doing so. There are no spoilers that you couldn't get from reading the back cover of the book.

The story so far: a small, autonomous island nation off the coast of South Carolina, which "has sought to uplift its black and white citizens through almost monastic devotion to liberal arts education and scholarship, effectively elevating language to a national art form, while relegating modern technology to the status of avoidable nuisance," strikes certain letters from the language, both written and spoken, one by one over a period of about four months. Thus, while the islanders can still _do_ the things our narrator talks about, they are unable to communicate with each other about them, which can sometimes amount to the same thing. With that said, all stylistic flaws are intentional.

* * *

_"On Friday, July 21, those penalties were decided. They are as follows: to speak or write any word containing the letter "Z," or to be found in possession of any written communication containing the letter, one will receive for a first offense, a public oral reprimand either by the island Law Enforcement Brigade (known with trembling affection as the L.E.B.) or by member of its civilian-auxiliary. Second offenders will be offered choice between the corporal pain of body-flogging and the public humiliation of headstock upon the public square (or in your case, the village commons). For third offense, violators will be banished from the island. Refusal to leave upon order of Council will result in death."  
-Ella Minnow Pea_

It started small. We lost the letter Z. Who would miss Z? My only child Elizabeth, perhaps, and her good friend Zacharias, but they simply became Elisabeth and Jim. Otherwise, who noticed? There were no televisions, and thus no censoring of the zombie movies for which my dear sister had discovered such fondness when she moved to Charleston, South Carolina. Zacharias's science fiction and fantasy magazine (already struggling on an island so far and willingly removed from modern technology) had its title ignominiously shortened to sci-fi mag, the fantasy element excised to prevent the accidental incursion of a wizard. November-born girls like my daughter were forced to substitute citrine for topaz in their birthstone jewelry. And the azure sea became merely a listless blue. There were no more lazy summer days. Crazy times had come upon us.

The Q came quickly after. Still, we didn't question. Quiet Elisabeth could be taciturn instead. Like her father, Quincy, she would never be loquacious. Jim, now banned from publishing tales of epic quests or quasars, quit the mag business to pursue the life aquatic on his father's fishing boat. It was perhaps not quite equal in prestige to his former career, but he enjoyed the quality time with his dad. And, as he could no longer quail at querying, the boy learned that his love for my Elisabeth did not go unrequited.

Then came J. More common than the others, but still just J. Elisabeth brought Jim a thermos of the soup _du jour _filched from her job at the restaurant, and with a jaunty air she joked about the impossibility of being joined in June-due to the sudden absence of a jewelry store at which to purchase a ring. Jaundiced Jimmy didn't jump for joy.

The real dilemma came when we lost the D. What would we do with a forbidden D? The delightful duo didn't dare to date. They couldn't even hold hands. Dear Elisabeth couldn't deliver the soup of the day to her darling Tim on the dock at dawn. It was a darn shame. Her soup was delicious, like all the food she cooked. The situation was looking dire. Children lost their dads. I lost my husband. No kidding. Melodramatic as it may sound, our way of life was beginning to die. And not with dignity.

When they kill the K, we can no longer look upon the lack as a mere inconvenience, for goodness' sake. Tim can't kiss Elisabeth when she woke up at the crack of sunrise. He got a kick out of looking back, blinking in the early morning sun, to see her running back lickety-split to the restaurant where she works as a cook, tucking her fists into her pockets or hiking up her skirt as she ran. Alack, never again. There was one stroke of luck. The isle has no kangaroos. (Where to keep them?) "The laws are like a sickness choking the life out of us, but who has what it takes to tell the Council to go fly a kite?" he asks himself. The ultimate penalty was unspeakable. Nay, unthinkable. People stop saying that everything will be okay.

First Tim lost fiction, then fishing with his father (Wilf). Elisabeth, chief chef at her café, no longer serves coffee or french fries. What's left of her career is no fun for a free-spirit young filly such as herself. But she & her fellow, fast feliciates forevermore, are finally full of plans for the uniting of their families. One Fri., Tim forgetfully refers to their future offspring as "kids." His first offense.

B bought it while Elisabeth-no-more was bustling to buy a beauteous a ball gown to wear at her marriage. The next morning, bright, not blustery, she waves bye-bye to her baby in his big brown boat, sailing the ocean blue beneath the brilliant morning sun. His brother, Billy (same name as his pa, who will not be "Big" when they both become "Will") bravely continues planning the bachelor party, buying beer enough to be a big boys' brouhaha. But Elisabeth says interrogatively, "Without B, how can we be?"

C cut the chatter very much. We catch our tongues clattering away, try to change course. It was no use. Many times there was no accept - other choice. So much linguistic nuance was lost. Tim calls Elisa his favorite girl, illicit speech she cherishes until he was caught & convict. She can't cry. The courageous ovenmistress creates a cheery cherry chocolate concoction. They share it in secret, at night o' course, easing his chastisement. This was crime two.

Very soon V vanishes, with all the vim - the vigor - the vitality - the violins & violents & violets. Worst yet, this was no more love. There were no lovers. Elisa & Tim say things only privately. Tim's voyage is inevital. They want not to leave Tim's pa & 4 pa's-sons, Elisa's pa & me, Viv. Though they love their relatives, Tim will have to go, an he mis-says again. I gave my little girl my marriage veil. Memories o' mom. Was M next?

U. I might guess it was U. At least we will not now employ the instant message language my girl-nephew use in the U.S.A. I wrote her a letter saying, "Will Elisa & Tim stay with you later?" I sign it only "Aunt." Not also sign thing with U she say my husman. (I mail it. _Then_ U went. It was still legal at the time.) It surprises her, I'm sure. I not write that way usually. The grammar was all wrong. Use "Elisa" as the name, too. Also only small, simple letter-group things. We not allow to name what we lose when letter 4 went away! Ha, now I am getting angry & Tim's mouth stays shut. Upstairs, they plan another time.

X is next. At last, no more xylophones. No more Ex-Lax. There was no more to lose with X. All else was gone. (My hosman says to me, also sex. Yes, there is that.)

Y. Too late to say to them, "Why?" There is no why. Only yes.

H was gone. I hate it. Was this _their_ plan? Their want? Smarter to lose hate right now 1. Not now late, when time pass. Tim. Elisa. Hosman an me. He hates, she hates, we hate. Also gone is ha-ha-ha.

Gee, it's gone. Get it?

Now wat? Air astir wit' wisteria. Man & me. Elisa & Tim. Pals. Worms wit' no plan. No war. No wors. Poor lost wors. O, an Tim sees Elisa's tits at last. Lamp lit, rite time. Still wort' sometin, ain't it? I not minet premarital ses now. Notin else to sae. Literal.

AEIRSTW all at one time. _Now wat? Polo pool mop loon?_

* * *

_EPILOGUE  
__In Which It Ends Well_

_You are cordially invited to the wedding of  
__ELIZABETH KATHRYN MAXWELL  
__Daughter of Quincy and Vivian Maxwell  
__and  
__ZACHARIAS GODFREY JUSPECZYK  
__Son of Wilfred Juspeczyk_

My brown-haired daughter is quite a fox, and the man she married is anything but a lazy dog.

They kissed so very joyfully, they can't help but be happy.

Elizabeth's Cousin Janice from South Carolina came to be a bridesmaid. After the ceremony, she told us we were talking "even funnier than usual."

We responded straightforwardly that this was by choice.


End file.
